


Shades of Ink

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, Heavy flirting, M/M, SakuAtsu Week, Tattoo Artist!Au, Tattoos and Piercings, sexual content in chapter 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: It’s fortunate that Miya Atsumu is such a good tattoo artist, because that appears to be his only redeeming quality. He’s too loud, too cocky, and so overtly flirtatious that Sakusa almost leaves the shop before he even steps inside. But he’s seen firsthand that Atsumu does good work, so he stays and suffers through it.The longer he's there, the more he thinks maybe Atsumu isn't all bad.When Atsumu asks for a tattoo from Sakusa’s shop in return, Sakusa knows he should turn Atsumu down. He doesn’t.What should have been a routine business transaction turns into something more hands-on than either of them expected.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 204
Kudos: 3377
Collections: SakuAtsu Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [В цвете](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26309164) by [Terquedad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terquedad/pseuds/Terquedad)



> This is Ginny's AU, I'm just a victim here.
> 
> This is for Sakuatsu Week Day 1 - Hands/Touch. Find the the matching art on Twitter [Here!](https://twitter.com/painpackerrs/status/1247346074949488640?s=21)
> 
> And more art [Here!](https://twitter.com/jamsandwizard/status/1249327042459467777?s=21)
> 
> And even more art [Here!](https://twitter.com/bearthefork/status/1254588335110094849?s=20)
> 
> Chapters 2 and 3 will be posted Wednesday and Thursday, to match up with other prompts.

When Sakusa had booked this appointment three months ago, he’d done it for the artist, not the shop. The shop itself was irrelevant.

He told himself that as he scuffed to a stop to stare at the storefront. It was no more than a hole in the wall with a flashing neon sign that said  _ Tattoos and Piercings. _ If it hadn’t been labeled, Sakusa would have assumed it was condemned.

Maybe he had the wrong place.

He hoped he had the wrong place.

He pulled out his phone to check the address again, in case there was another tattoo shop somewhere on the same block that he hadn’t noticed. Because the guy he’d booked couldn’t be working out of a place like  _ this. _

“Hey man, you lost?” 

Sakusa didn’t look up. “No.”

“You sure? You’re standin’ around like you’re lost.”

Sakusa whipped his head up, a sharp reply lodging between his teeth as he realized this person must belong to the tattoo shop. He checked himself and said instead, “I’m sure.”

The stranger’s eyebrow rose. There was a cigarette tucked between his lips, and tattoos crept up his neck toward his bleached hair. He squinted at Sakusa, and something in his expression shifted. A grin curled the corner of his mouth. “You here for a tattoo?”

“I’m not here for a manicure.”

The man laughed. He was objectively good-looking, but something about that cocky grin made Sakusa wish he wasn’t. “Sorry, you don’t look like the type.”

Sakusa bristled. “And what exactly is the type?”

“I don’t know. Dressed a little shittier, probably.” He shrugged. “Too bad I’ve got an appointment booked already. I’d get you hooked up.” He dropped his cigarette near the corner of the building and stomped it out, leaving the butt on the ground among a pile of two dozen others. “I can schedule with you, though. I’ve got spots open a couple months out.”

“No, thanks,” said Sakusa drily. He didn’t like the assumption that he’d let himself be tattooed by any idiot wandering around on the street. “I have an appointment already.”

“Oh yeah? Who with?”

“Miya Atsumu.”

The stranger’s grin tilted dangerously higher, and Sakusa’s stomach sank. He knew what the guy was about to say before he even said it.

“Well lucky me. Miya Atsumu, at your service. Nice to finally see your face, Sakusa. A damn nice face, too.”

Sakusa cringed. His face wasn’t even visible for the most part, thanks to the mask pulled up over his nose. He would have said that, if he wasn’t so suddenly and furiously preoccupied with finding a reasonable excuse to cancel this appointment immediately.

“C’mon in, then,” said Atsumu, yanking open the door and making a dramatic, sweeping gesture inside. “Welcome to my castle.”

Sakusa did not want to go inside. Not at all.

But he’d already paid a deposit, so he gritted his teeth and stepped in.

To his relief, the shop was better on the inside. The walls were layered with so much art that Sakusa couldn’t have guessed at the color of the paint beneath. The waiting room was small but neat, the glass of the piercing display case was spotless, and there was a vague smell of antiseptic that gave Sakusa some peace. 

“Right through here,” said Atsumu, stepping past and leading the way down a narrow hall. “I’m in the back.”

Sakusa wondered if someone had put Atsumu in the back strategically, so he’d be furthest away from the customers.

They passed a couple of other artists on the way, one of them working on a full color piece across someone’s shoulders, another sitting back with his feet propped up and his phone in his hand. That one looked suspiciously similar to Atsumu, and Sakusa squinted at him as they reached the end of the hall. 

“Here we are. Give me a minute to set up, you’re early.”

Sakusa stopped just inside the door, eyeing Atsumu’s workspace with a healthy dose of criticism. But there wasn’t much to be critical about, and Sakusa wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or relieved. The counter was perfectly organized and it had the overbearing sense of sterility that Sakusa preferred at his own shop. 

“Lemme get this wiped down for ya.” Atsumu battled with the black leather chair until it straightened out into a level table. He sprayed it down, toweled it dry, and said, “Sit down, make yourself at home.”

Sakusa did, perching on the edge to watch Atsumu disinfect the rest of his workspace. 

At least he was clean. Sakusa would have walked right back out if he wasn’t, regardless of the deposit.

“I was surprised to hear from ya,” said Atsumu, as he ripped a few dozen paper towels off the roll and settled them into a neat stack. “You do good work, Sakusa. Real nice shit. I wouldn’t’ve thought my stuff was your style.”

Sakusa almost said nothing, because he didn’t make a habit of indulging someone who was fishing for compliments. But that didn’t seem to be quite what Atsumu was doing, so Sakusa said, “I appreciate styles that I can’t do.” He glanced at the wall where a large canvas was painted with an elaborately detailed kitsune, complete with sunset orange tails and a mouth full of sharp teeth that somehow reminded Sakusa of Atsumu’s smile. It was Atsumu’s art. Sakusa recognized it immediately. He’d studied all of Atsumu’s art online, before he’d made the decision to book this appointment. 

“Nah, I’m sure you could,” said Atsumu. He laid out a trio of small plastic pots and filled them with black ink. “A little practice maybe, but you’re talented enough for it.”

Sakusa didn’t respond to that.

“Alright, let’s get to it,” said Atsumu. “Here’s what I stenciled up for ya. If you don’t like it, tell me. Won’t hurt my feelings.”

“I would tell you regardless,” said Sakusa, as Atsumu plopped down on his stool and wheeled over. “I don’t care about your feelings.”

Atsumu grinned as he spread the stencil out on the table beside Sakusa. “That’s cold, Sakusa. Kiyoomi. We’re all friends here, I can call you Kiyoomi, right?”

“No.”

“Great. What do you think, Omi? There’s not much detail in it, but I add that as I go. It’ll be like we talked about.”

Sakusa studied the stencil with a slight frown. It was a galaxy swirl of wind, with a hurricane of leaves and a bladed kamaitachi at the center. 

A moment passed, and Atsumu said, “What? What’s wrong with it? I can whip up a new one, just tell me what to fix.”

“It’s fine.”

“Fine?” repeated Atsumu, his face twisting. “Fine isn’t good enough. Hang on, I’ll just-”

“I like it,” said Sakusa, so Atsumu would stop talking. “It’s fine.”

Atsumu considered that with a slight crunch of his brow. He rolled back a little to study Sakusa. “You one of those people who can’t give a compliment?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like, it would kill you to say, ‘That looks great, ‘Tsumu, I can’t wait for you to put it on me.”

“Yes, I think it would kill me to say that.”

Atsumu snorted, and his smile returned as he swept the stencil up and rolled back to the counter. “Okay then. As long as you’re happy with it. You want it on your thigh, right?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Atsumu tilted his head, and his grin went sharper. “Guess you’ll have to take your pants off. Too bad. Want some help with that?”

Sakusa’s glare didn’t set Atsumu on fire, so he tried harder. Atsumu just laughed.

“I’m wearing shorts under these,” said Sakusa, as he stood to tug at the button of his jeans. “Don’t get excited.”

“No promises, Omi.”

“Don’t call me that. We don’t know each other.”

“You’re about to have my art branded into your skin for the rest of your life,” said Atsumu. “I think that puts us on a first-name basis.”

“The more you talk, the more I want to leave.”

“And yet you’re still taking your pants off for me.”

Sakusa stopped with his jeans halfway down his thighs to scowl. “Are you this unprofessional with all of your customers?”

“Nope,” said Atsumu, his grin unwavering. “You’re just special.”

Sakusa should have found that difficult to believe, but he couldn’t imagine that Atsumu would be such a popular artist if this was how he approached everyone who came through his shop. Art quality was important, but it meant nothing if Atsumu constantly made people uncomfortable. Sakusa should have been uncomfortable. He wasn’t, not really, but he should have been.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be professional.” Atsumu stood and turned away from him to pull open a cabinet. “You gonna need me to shave your leg?”

“No. I did it already.”

“Now you’re the one who’s being a professional, Omi.” Atsumu yanked a pair of black plastic gloves out of a box and laid them aside. He moved to the sink in the corner and scrubbed his hands as Sakusa freed himself from his jeans and neatly folded them at the end of the table. 

Atsumu hummed under his breath as he rinsed his hands, dried them with a paper towel, and snapped on the gloves. “Show me where you want it.”

Sakusa squinted at him, trying to determine if that was supposed to be suggestive, and decided it wasn’t. He tugged up the leg of his shorts and swiveled. 

Atsumu tilted his head, eyeing the space as he reached for an alcohol wipe. “Gotcha. Should fit perfect. You’re real pale, don’t go outside much, huh?”

“About as often as you have a full conversation without insulting someone.”

Atsumu snorted a laugh and plopped back down on his stool. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I get along great with everybody.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

Atsumu wiped down the skin of Sakusa’s upper thigh in small, thorough circles. He was gentle, brows folding together as he focused. “You have nice skin, though. Like, your complexion. Perfect for ink.”

That wasn’t a compliment that Sakusa had gotten before. He said “Thanks,” quiet enough that he hoped Atsumu didn’t hear.

When Atsumu was satisfied – and Sakusa was too, or he would have made Atsumu clean his skin off again – he got back up and tossed the wipe into the trash. “Let’s see how it looks on you. Hold still.” Atsumu peeled the stencil apart carefully, set the backing aside, and held the translucent piece by the extreme edges. He went down on one knee in front of Sakusa, tilting the stencil this way and that, lining it up, until firmly laying it against his thigh. He pressed the lines in with careful fingertips, starting in the middle and spreading outwards, and there was something relaxing about the pressure of his hands.

Atsumu pulled the stencil away slowly and took a moment to study the lines that were left behind. He tilted his head back to grin at Sakusa.

He was marginally less annoying on his knees.

Sakusa immediately banished the thought.

“I think it looks pretty good,” said Atsumu. He gave it one last look before rising. “Mirror’s over there. See what ya think.”

Sakusa took a few steps, still hiking the edge of his shorts out of the way. The stenciled design was perfectly even, the lines curving nicely with the shape of his leg. He didn’t think he could have placed it any better. “It’s fine.”

“Yer killin’ me with the  _ fine _ , Omi. You like it or not?”

“…Yes.”

“Great. Hop up, then.” Atsumu patted the table. “Lay back and relax, I’ll take good care of ya.”

Sakusa wanted to refuse on general principle, but he wanted this tattoo more. He climbed onto the table, keeping his weight on his left side so he wouldn’t smear anything. Atsumu turned away to pop open a new needle, and Sakusa reached up to tug his mask from behind his ears and put it aside. It was clean in here. He didn’t think he needed it.

“Most people don’t want blackwork from me,” said Atsumu. The tattoo gun buzzed, a sound so familiar that Sakusa felt himself relax a little more. “I do mostly color.”

“I don’t like color.”

“Yeah? No color tats at all?”

“No.”

“Huh. Whatever makes you happy, I guess.” Atsumu dabbed the needle in one of the tiny pots to soak up some ink. His own arms were layered with color, and although Sakusa would never wear that style himself, it didn’t look bad on Atsumu. 

Atsumu swiveled back around, tattoo gun in hand, but stopped. His eyes were stuck to Sakusa’s face, his expression going a little slack.

“What?” said Sakusa, a little sharp.

Atsumu blinked. “Oh. Nothin’. It’s just...” He made a vague gesture toward Sakusa’s face but didn’t say anything else. He rolled a little closer and traced a finger at the edge of the outer lines printed on Sakusa’s thigh. “If I’d seen you like that outside, I would’ve known you were here for somethin’.”

Sakusa sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and the snakebite piercings clicked against his teeth. He released it again and said, “I’m surprised you don’t have any.”

Atsumu’s grin went wicked. “Who says I don’t? They’re not anywhere I usually display to the public. I’ll show you, though, if you ask real nice.” 

Sakusa glanced down, but immediately forced himself to look away. He said, as flatly as possible, “I’ll pass.”

Atsumu laughed. He leaned over Sakusa, flattened a hand against his thigh, and adjusted his grip on the tattoo gun. “Ready for first blood, Omi?”

“You don’t have to make it sound so dramatic.”

“Sure I do. Ready?”

Sakusa relaxed back against the table. If he was tense, it would hurt more. He knew that from repeated personal experience. “Yes.”

The first jab was always the worst, but even that wasn’t so bad. The pain was secondary to the intensity with which Sakusa watched Atsumu’s first few lines, judging the steadiness of his hand. There wasn’t a single waver, and Sakusa rested his head back again. 

Sakusa thought Atsumu would talk the entire time. That seemed to be the defining facet of his personality. But he was quiet, focused, his stare as level as his hand as he etched dark ink into Sakusa’s skin. 

Atsumu pulled back, checked the lines he’d made so far, and dipped the needle into more ink. He dabbed at Sakusa’s skin with a paper towel and started again. 

Sakusa closed his eyes, lulled by the buzz of the needle and the press of Atsumu’s hand and the sharp prickling pain digging into his flesh. That had become almost therapeutic over the years. He was never more at ease than when he was just like this. Whoever had said tattoos were addictive hadn’t been wrong. 

“How’s it look?” said Sakusa after a while. It could have been an hour, maybe more. He wasn’t certain.

Atsumu dipped into the ink. “Looks good. Wanna check?”

“No. Keep going.”

Atsumu smiled, a little twist of his mouth that was softer than the toothy grins he’d flashed at Sakusa before. He went back to work, brows tucked together in concentration, lashes fluttering every time he blinked. Sakusa watched the way Atsumu’s tattoos shifted when his arm flexed. 

When Atsumu inked the upper curve of the swirl, edging closer to Sakusa’s hip, he flinched, just barely.

Atsumu paused. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

Atsumu rubbed the back of his knuckles against Sakusa’s skin, just above the design, as if trying to ease the sting. “This part’s almost done. Switching to shading in a few.”

Sakusa grunted and said nothing.

“It’s weird, doing everything in black,” said Atsumu, when he paused to switch out needles. “I’m not used to it. Haven’t done it in a few months.”

“Maybe I made a mistake, then.”

Atsumu laughed low under his breath. “Nah, it’ll turn out good. I wouldn’t have agreed to do it if I wasn’t sure. I’m not gonna half-ass anything for another artist, ‘specially not one as good as you.”

“You would half-ass it for other customers, then?” asked Sakusa.

“What? No, of course not. Not what I meant.” Atsumu snapped the cartridge together and soaked up some ink. “It’s not like I’m gonna do anything for anybody if I don’t think it’ll turn out good. I’ve got a reputation, you know.”

Sakusa did know. That reputation was what had brought him to the shop to begin with. 

“There’s gonna be a lot of shading,” said Atsumu, as he smoothed a hand over Sakusa’s thigh. “I’ll try to be quick about it.”

Sakusa sighed and settled in. “I don’t mind.”

“Sure you don’t wanna look at it?”

“I’ll wait until it’s finished. If it looks like shit, it’s already too late to stop you.”

Atsumu snorted. “Alright, then. Starting back now.”

He gave Sakusa enough time to take a breath before the needle dug in again. The pain was a little worse than before, because the skin was already tender. Sakusa closed his eyes and breathed through it. It wasn’t terrible. Despite the constant sting, it was still comforting, in a way. Getting tattooed always was.

When Atsumu finally finished, Sakusa was in a haze. He peeled himself upright slowly, propped on his elbows as Atsumu carefully cleaned his skin. 

“Feel okay?” asked Atsumu, as he grazed a paper towel across the fresh ink. 

“Feels fine.”

“Get up and check it out, then, before I wrap it.”

Sakusa felt a little unsteady on his feet, but regained his balance quickly. He shuffled over to the mirror, holding up the leg of his shorts, and studied his reflection.

Atsumu had been right. It did turn out good.

The lines were dark and sharp, and the shading was flawless. It hugged the curve of his thigh, stark against his pale skin, just as gorgeous as the kitsune painting on the wall despite the monochrome color. Sakusa had expected it to be good, but he hadn’t foreseen that it would be  _ this  _ good.

“Oh,” he said.

Atsumu, who’d been shuffling around behind him, went still. “What?”

Sakusa turned to the side a little more, eyeing the edges.

“What?” repeated Atsumu, creeping up to look over Sakusa’s shoulder. “Is something wrong with it?”

“No.” Sakusa took one last took before turning away. “I like it. Thank you.”

Atsumu blinked, his face blank. Gradually his smile returned, but it was less cutting, more of a soft curve. “No problem. Glad it turned okay. Step over here.”

Atsumu knelt to spread ointment across the fresh ink, firm but gentle. When he was finished, he stripped off a glove and rolled out a measure of plastic wrap. It clung to Sakusa eagerly, and Atsumu tucked it around his leg to secure it. His fingers lingered at the inside of Sakusa’s thigh, careful and warm, before he pulled away. 

“Should I go over the basics of tattoo care?” asked Atsumu with a grin as he applied a few pieces of medical tape to hold the wrap in place. “Don’t want you to fuck it up because you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I think I can figure it out.”

“Whatever you say.” He touched the edge of the wrap one last time, lingering, before he rose to his feet. “You’re done, Omi. Thanks for comin’ in, it was cool to meet you.”

Sakusa collected his folded jeans from the end of the table. He considered putting them back on, but didn’t want them rubbing against his leg. He slipped the wallet out of the back pocket and said, “How much?”

Atsumu plopped down on his stool, rolling back a bit. He grinned up at Sakusa. “How about a trade?”

“A trade?”

“Yeah. No charge, but I get to come to your shop and get somethin’ from you, too.”

Sakusa squinted at him. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Clearly my style isn’t what you’re into,” said Sakusa, glancing at Atsumu’s arms. “I don’t do much color.”

“Not even for me?”

“What makes you special?”

“I just poured my heart and soul into your skin,” said Atsumu. He swiveled from side to side on the stool. It squeaked in a way that made Sakusa’s eye twitch. “It’s the least you could do.”

“Or I could just pay cash.”

“C’mon, Omi. Seriously, will you do a piece for me? I’ve seen your stuff. I know it’s amazing. I think it’s a fair trade.”

It was fair. Sakusa didn’t know why he was so hesitant to accept. He tried to think of a reason to say no and couldn’t. There were only reasons to agree.

“Okay,” said Sakusa slowly. “Fine. We’ll trade.”

Atsumu’s grin curved impossibly wider. “Fuck yeah! I was hoping you’d say that. I already know what I want, I’d planned to ask you anyway. Now that I’ve met you, I want it even more.” He fumbled for his phone and said, “Give me your number. For easier messaging, you know. Don’t wanna rely on the internet.”

They hadn’t had a problem communicating on the internet when planning Sakusa’s tattoo, but he didn’t point that out. He recited his number, because it was easier than arguing. 

“I’ll send you refs later,” said Atsumu, tapping away at his phone. “Just let me know when you’re free. I’m guessin' you’re booked up pretty far.”

That was true. Sakusa usually had appointments made for three months in advance, but he tried to make exceptions for other artists. “I can work you in sometime next month, probably. I’ll check my book when I get back.”

“Any day, any time.” Atsumu’s grin was immutable. “I’ll cancel my own shit if I have to. Can’t wait.”

Sakusa was already in the hallway when Atsumu called out, “Thanks for trusting me with your body, Omi!”

He didn’t turn around, but as he walked by, the artist who looked dubiously similar to Atsumu glanced up from the wrist he was tattooing to watch Sakusa pass by. 

When Sakusa stepped outside, he turned to take another look at the shop. It didn’t look as bad as he’d thought, when he’d first arrived. He wasn’t disgusted by the idea of returning in the future.

Atsumu pressed his face against the window and waved, obnoxious. 

Sakusa raised a hand in return as he walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of Sakuatsu Week: ~~Mouths~~ /Marks

It was almost exactly a month later when Sakusa saw Atsumu again, and he was just as boisterous and annoying as Sakusa remembered. 

He may have also been more handsome than Sakusa remembered, because as he pushed his way into Sakusa’s shop with a halo of sunlight cutting him into a golden silhouette, Sakusa felt something strange and tight in his chest.

It morphed into irritation almost immediately.

“Omi-kun! Good to see you again. Did you miss me? You missed me, didn’t you?”

“It’s you,” said Sakusa, inflectionless. “I must have given you the wrong day. I already have something planned, guess you’ll have to come back later.”

Atsumu didn’t waver. He swaggered over to the counter and leaned his elbows against it, grinning down at Sakusa. “Don’t lie, Omi. You’ve been looking forward to this just as much as I have.”

“I do tattoos every day. This isn’t special.”

“Sure it is. I’m here, so that makes it special.”

Sakusa sighed, but stood. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

“I hope you’re not rude like this to all your customers,” said Atsumu, following him into the next room. 

“I’m not. You’re special, remember?” 

Atsumu snorted a laugh, and Sakusa pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t smile. He would never admit it, especially not to Atsumu of all people, but he had been thinking about this session quite often over the past few weeks. The design Atsumu wanted was unique, a little different than Sakusa’s usual art, not least of all because he wanted it in color. Sakusa may have refused if anyone else had made the request, because he’d built a solid reputation on his blackwork and didn’t feel the need to branch out. 

But Atsumu had done good work for him, and it was only fair that he returned the favor.

“This is a cool place,” said Atsumu, turning in a full circle to study Sakusa’s workspace. “It’s your shop, right? Like, just yours. You don’t share with anyone.”

“No. I’m not good at sharing.”

Atsumu laughed. “Right. I could’ve guessed that.” He wandered over to inspect the papers pinned to the wall, a mix of concept sketches and future pieces and in-process tattoos that Sakusa had yet to finish. 

Sakusa had already wiped everything down, but he did it again; both so Atsumu would know it was clean and because extra disinfecting only made things better. 

“These are good, Omi,” said Atsumu. He traced one of Sakusa’s most recent sketches with a fingertip. “Really damn good.”

“There’s no need for flattery. You’re already getting this tattoo for free.”

Atsumu turned back with a grin. “Am not. I paid already. The proof is on your skin. How’d that heal up, by the way? Lemme see.”

Sakusa, in the middle of setting up his workstation, gave Atsumu a flat glance over his shoulder. “I’m not taking my pants off.”

“Why not? You did last time I saw you. Let’s make a habit of it.”

“Shut up and sit down.”

“Okay, okay.” Atsumu stepped away from the art wall, but didn’t sit. He wandered up behind Sakusa instead, peering over his shoulder. “What brand of ink do you use?”

“I don’t remember questioning everything you did when I was at your shop.”

Atsumu sighed and retreated. “Just tryin’ to make conversation.”

As if he had to try. Atsumu talked nearly as often as he breathed. Even when they’d exchanged texts regarding this tattoo, Atsumu’s messages had been long and rambling, using a paragraph to make a point that Sakusa could have wrapped up in five words or less. Atsumu had a hurricane personality that should have sent Sakusa scrambling for cover. 

Sakusa checked over his shoulder again. Atsumu was sitting, idly kicking his feet, head cocked to one side as he continued to examine the art pinned up on the wall. When he noticed Sakusa looking at him he grinned, a flash of teeth and a gleam of keen eyes. Sakusa turned back to his work.

He always had an endless supply of black ink. He used so much of it that he usually had a new delivery come in every couple of weeks. He’d had to make a special order for this, because his stock of color ink was severely lacking. He broke open all the new bottles and used each of them to fill a small plastic pot that he lined up alongside the black ones. 

“Good choice, on the orange,” said Atsumu. He was suddenly back, standing so close to Sakusa that their shoulders brushed. “I like that one. Kind of a sunset color.”

Sakusa remembered the painting in Atsumu’s shop. He’d been thinking of that sunset kitsune when he’d chosen these colors. “Are you sure this is what you want? You know most of my art is blackwork. If this doesn’t turn out the way you want, I’m not taking responsibility.”

“Right,” scoffed Atsumu, “as if you’ve ever done a single tattoo that wasn’t fuckin’ amazing. I think I’ll take my chances.”

Sakusa glanced at him, and Atsumu grinned again. It was more potent at that close proximity. Sakusa nudged him with an elbow and said, “I told you to sit down. You’re in my way.”

“Just tryin’ to learn something.” Atsumu took two steps back but didn’t go far. 

“By watching me set up? If you don’t know this already, I’m appalled that I even set foot inside your shop.”

“I was just pretending to know what I was doin’ the whole time,” said Atsumu. His smile was evident in his voice, even when Sakusa wasn’t looking at him. “I’m actually not even Miya Atsumu. That’s my brother. I’ve just been fakin’ it.”

“I suppose it was a fortunate accident that my tattoo turned out so well.”

“Yep. Never done a tattoo before in my life.” He paused, and the teasing was gone from his voice when he added, “So you do still like it, then.”

“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Just makin’ sure.” 

Atsumu remained quiet as Sakusa finished; so quiet that Sakusa occasionally looked back to make sure he was still there. When Sakusa was satisfied with his set up, he opened a cabinet and plucked out the drawing he’d done for Atsumu. He’d already pressed it into a stencil, and he laid it flat on the counter for Atsumu to view.

Atsumu was at his elbow without prompting. “Looks good, Omi.”

“You’ve already seen it. I sent you a picture.”

“Well yeah, but it’s different in person. Better, even.” Atsumu reached out, as if he was about to touch it, but pulled his hand back. “These lines are ridiculous. It’d take me forever to ink something like this.”

“Good thing you’re not the one inking it, then. Take your shirt off.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Sakusa turned to snap at him, but Atsumu had already whisked his t-shirt off and away. He stood in the middle of Sakusa’s studio, bare-chested and sun-kissed and completely unashamed. 

Sakusa turned back around and wondered if he’d made a terrible decision when he’d agreed to do this. He paced to the sink in the corner and washed his hands a few times, which was both part of his usual routine and an excellent reason not to look at Atsumu. 

“Drag that chair closer to the counter and sit down,” said Sakusa, scrubbing his knuckles.

He waited for a response, probably something teasing or sarcastic, but the scrape of the chair against the floor suggested Atsumu was doing as he was told. Sakusa dried his hands and reluctantly turned around. Atsumu was sitting sideways, watching him with a polite tilt of his head.

Sakusa didn’t look at him very long. He couldn’t. He didn’t trust himself not to glance down to confirm if those were nipple piercings.

He returned to the cabinet and fitted a black mask over his face, stretching the strings behind his ears. Latex gloves were next, also black, and Atsumu fidgeted as Sakusa snapped them on. He stepped up behind Atsumu, wielding a cheap plastic razor. He pressed a gloved hand against Atsumu’s back, just below his shoulder. “Here?”

“Yeah.”

Sakusa dragged the razor over Atsumu’s skin in quick, short strokes. Atsumu’s shoulders twitched in a shiver, but he didn’t otherwise move. Sakusa cleaned the area – twice, just to be sure – and reached for the stencil. He dragged a stool over with one foot and sat on his calf, to give himself a bit more height as he pressed the design against Atsumu’s skin. He followed the curve of the lines with his fingertips, smoothing them down, and slowly peeled off the paper when he was finished. The purple print gleamed on Atsumu’s back, reflecting the bright light overhead.

“Go check it,” said Sakusa. 

“If you say it’s good, I believe ya.”

Sakusa pushed two fingers into Atsumu’s spine. “Go.”

Atsumu stood with a huff and went to the mirror across the room. He craned his head back to look at his shoulder, and while he was distracted, Sakusa made the confirmation.

Yes, Atsumu’s nipples were pierced.

He also had amazing tattoos, on his arms and blooming up the length of his neck, all in blazing, gorgeous color.

“Looks perfect, Omi.” When Atsumu turned back he was grinning. “It’s gonna turn out great.”

“Get back over here, then, and I’ll get started.”

Atsumu strolled back, standing over Sakusa, completely comfortable in his half-nudity. “How do you want me?”

Sakusa ripped open a fresh needle with a little too much force and barely saved it from falling into the floor. He took a breath and said, “Sit backwards.”

“Gotcha.” Atsumu straddled the chair and plopped down. He adjusted the back of it until it declined at a slight angle, then folded his arms onto it and leaned forward. 

Sakusa stood and nudged his stool a little higher with his foot. 

“You gonna warn me first or just go for it?” asked Atsumu, as Sakusa turned on his equipment. The tattoo gun buzzed in his hand. 

“You’ve done this before. You don’t need a warning.”

Atsumu snorted and lowered his head, resting it against his forearms. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

Sakusa touched Atsumu’s shoulder with gloved fingers, tugging the skin a little tighter and watching the way the design looked as it moved. His stare skated sideways, to the ink painting Atsumu’s arms. It was nice work. Sakusa would have to do even better.

The first touch of the needle was no more than a quick dot, because he expected Atsumu to flinch. But he was perfectly steady, shoulders unmoving, even as Sakusa began inking the long, sweeping lines of the design.

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten one of these before,” said Sakusa, as he stretched over to dab up more ink. “You tattoo a lot of them.”

Atsumu hummed. Sakusa could almost feel his voice under his palm. “Wanted it for a long time, just waitin’ for the right person to give it to me.”

Sakusa paused to study his progress so far, the curled and sweeping and sharp lines of the kitsune tails. “You could have found a specialty artist like yourself who does this kind of work.”

“I could’ve,” agreed Atsumu, as Sakusa started again, “but they wouldn’t have your perfect fuckin’ lines.”

Sakusa may have rolled his eyes, if Atsumu had been in a position to see it. Still, he couldn’t deny that he appreciated the compliment; especially coming from someone like Atsumu, who was skilled in his own right. 

“You’re trading good lines for average color,” said Sakusa, as he sharpened the point of a tail. 

“Nah,” said Atsumu. He still hadn’t moved at all, not a single twitch. “I’m gettin’ amazing lines  _ and  _ great color. I’m not worried about it.”

Atsumu was too free with his compliments, but he sounded like he meant all of them. 

“Tell me a story or somethin’,” said Atsumu. “Entertain me.”

“Here’s a counteroffer.” Sakusa reached over for more ink. “Shut up and let me focus.”

Atsumu snorted and raised his head, just long enough to slide a glance over his shoulder. His hair had fallen into his eyes and he was grinning. “And you were talkin’ about  _ me _ being unprofessional. Hypocrite.”

“At least I don’t flirt with everyone who walks through the door of my shop,” said Sakusa. He nudged the back of Atsumu’s neck. “Head down.”

Atsumu complied, but said, “Neither do I. Told ya before, you’re special. Can’t help myself.”

Sakusa chose to think only of the tattoo. 

It was a while later when Sakusa pulled back, wiped off Atsumu’s skin, and said, “The lines are finished. I could add a little shading and it would look fine without color.”

“Nope,” said Atsumu. He sat upright and stretched out his neck. Sakusa watched the way his tattoos moved with it. “We had a deal. You’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy, Omi.”

Sakusa had expected him to say something like that. He would have been slightly disappointed if Atsumu had agreed. As much as Sakusa had initially been resistant, he also wanted to see how this would turn out.

“Take a break, then,” said Sakusa. “Five minutes.”

“Perfect. Plenty of time for a cigarette.”

He was halfway out of his seat when Sakusa snapped, “No, it’s not. You’re not going outside with a fresh tattoo. It’ll get contaminated.”

“C’mon, it’s not like I’m gonna lean against the wall on it or anything.”

“I don’t care. My shop, my rules. Four minutes.”

Atsumu sighed and stood. He waved off Sakusa’s glare and said, “Yeah, yeah. I’m not goin’ out. I’ll just stare sadly out the window and struggle with my nicotine addiction.”

“If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“You’ve made that real clear, Omi.” Atsumu flashed a smile at him as he wandered out toward the front of the shop. Sakusa watched him go, following the new, fresh lines of ink down the lean slope of his back.

Sakusa turned back to his workstation and focused on organizing the ink. He didn’t allow himself to think of the snug fit of Atsumu’s jeans. 

Atsumu ambled back into the room a couple of minutes later and shoved his phone into his pocket. He didn’t smell like smoke, which meant he’d listened. 

“Ready to finish up?” asked Sakusa.

Atsumu plopped back down in the chair. “My body is yours, Omi.”

Sakusa’s eyes went narrow. Atsumu only grinned.

Sakusa stood to wipe down Atsumu’s back, again eyeing his work. He was pleased with it. He hoped Atsumu would be too, when it was finished.

“We can stop and do the rest later,” said Sakusa, “if it’s too much.”

“Nah, I’m good. I could sit here all day.” He drummed his fingers against the back of the chair. “Although if you wanna be a little nicer about it, I won’t complain. Feels like you’re tryin’ to chisel my skin off.”

Sakusa’s stare was flat as he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. “You’ve done this before. You should be used to it by now.”

“Yeah, but you’re rougher about it than most people. Almost like you want to hurt me on purpose.”

Sakusa didn’t respond.

Atsumu craned his head back. “Wait, do you? You tryin’ to hurt me, Omi?”

“Do you want me to finish this or not?”

“I guess,” said Atsumu with a huff, resting his forehead against his folded arms. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here and suffer.”

He was being ridiculously dramatic.

Still, when Sakusa started inking again, he eased into it slowly.

The color took longer than it should have. Atsumu could have probably done it in half the time, as often as he did color pieces. But Sakusa didn’t want to mess it up, so he went slowly.

Despite Atsumu’s apparent need to constantly complain, he didn’t.

It was two hours later when Sakusa finished. He rolled back, put the tattoo gun aside, and cleaned the smudges of ink off of Atsumu’s skin. “Done.”

Atsumu sighed, shoulders moving under Sakusa’s hand. “Finally. I was starting to think I’d die here.”

“There’s still a chance. You haven’t left yet.”

Atsumu snorted as he stood. He paced over to the mirror and turned around, checking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse. Sakusa stripped off his gloves and retrieved a round mirror from a cabinet to carry over.

“Here,” said Sakusa. 

“Oh, thanks.” Atsumu took it, his hand touching Sakusa’s, just for a second. He angled the mirror to study the tattoo, and the smile that lit his face was breathtaking. “Damn, Omi. It’s even better than I thought it would be.” He twisted to the side a little. “The colors are fuckin’ amazing. Couldn’t have done them better myself.”

“Yeah, you could’ve,” said Sakusa. He took the mirror back when Atsumu was finished. “Glad it turned out alright.”

“Alright?” repeated Atsumu. He turned to face Sakusa, his eyebrows rising. “Who would’ve thought Sakusa Kiyoomi would be so humble?”

“One of us has to be. Two egos like yours wouldn’t fit in this room.”

Atsumu laughed as he dropped back into the chair, waiting patiently as Sakusa wrapped up his back. When Sakusa finished, his fingers traveled across Atsumu’s shoulder, down the bright ink of his bicep before falling away. Atsumu looked back at him, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“This is nice work,” said Sakusa. He almost reached out to touch it again but stopped himself. Instead he stood and started clearing off his workstation. 

“Thanks.” Atsumu swung a leg over the chair and sat facing Sakusa. He held an arm in front of himself and flexed his fingers. “I did most of it myself. On this arm, anyway. Did what I could reach and my brother finished the rest. You do any of your own?”

“A couple of them.”

“Can I see?”

Sakusa almost said yes. He wanted to say yes, and that in itself was a warning. 

“I have another appointment coming in,” said Sakusa, as he wiped down the counter. “They should be here soon.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Atsumu stood and retrieved his shirt. Sakusa watched him put it on; out of professional interest only, to make sure he didn’t mess up the wrap Sakusa had taped down. It had nothing to do with the flex of his abs as his arms went over his head. “That’s too bad,” said Atsumu, as he yanked down the hem of his shirt. “I was gonna offer to buy you dinner. Another time, maybe?”

Sakusa cleaned the counter again, because he needed to do something to stop himself from looking at Atsumu. “Maybe.”

There was a light touch at his elbow. “Hey.”

Sakusa twitched away and turned to find Atsumu standing directly behind him.

Atsumu smiled – a normal smile, not the smug, foxlike grin – and said, “Thanks for doing this, Omi. I like it a lot.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I owed you.”

“Doesn’t matter. You still could’ve said no. Thanks for leaving your comfort zone for me.”

Sakusa wanted to insist he hadn’t done it for Atsumu, but he couldn’t come up with a supporting argument. There’d been no other reason for him to agree. He said, “Sure. You’re welcome.”

“Maybe I’ll come back again sometime. Turn it into a full back piece. What do you think?”

“I think you’ll be paying next time, just like everyone else.”

Atsumu laughed and took a step back. It was easier to breathe when he wasn’t standing so close. “You got it. Sure you don’t wanna show me the piece I did for you? Check and see if it needs touching up or anything?”

“It doesn’t. It healed up fine.”

Atsumu shrugged. “Okay, then. You change your mind, you know where I am.” He offered Sakusa one last grin before turning away. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Sakusa didn’t know what he meant by  _ soon _ . They were even. There was no other reason for them to see each other.

And that was fine. He didn’t need to see Atsumu. It wasn’t as if he was losing anything.

But he said “Sure” as Atsumu slipped through the doorway, and he stood still to listen to the sound of the outside door creak open and slap shut. He wandered to the doorway to peer out at the main area of the shop, where he could see Atsumu through the window, lighting up a cigarette on the sidewalk. Sakusa shook his head and returned to his workstation to set up for his next client. He didn’t have time to think about Atsumu. He had work to do.

Until a few hours later when he didn’t, and he checked his phone after locking up for the night. 

He’d been tagged in a social media post, and although it shouldn’t have been a surprise to see Atsumu’s name plastered across his screen, Sakusa hadn’t been expecting it.

It was a picture of Atsumu’s fresh tattoo, taken in such good lighting that it must have been at Atsumu’s shop. The caption read, “Just got fresh ink from my good friend Sakusa! Look at those lines. Is it my favorite tattoo ever? Probably. Go check him out and give him a follow  _ here _ .”

The post had been made half an hour ago. Sakusa had picked up a dozen new followers since then, and two more as he stared down at the screen. 

Atsumu was ridiculous.

Sakusa couldn’t stop himself from wondering how the night would have gone if he’d agreed to dinner. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakuatsu Week Day 4: Trace/Skin

“Leave the wrap on tonight,” said Sakusa, as he taped it off. “Wash it with antibacterial soap in the morning, put ointment on it, and wrap it again. Do that for three days. Got it?”

The boy nodded, staring down at his arm in amazement. Sakusa still wasn’t convinced he’d been old enough to get this tattoo, despite the believable ID he’d provided. 

“I have those instructions written down. Come out front and I’ll give you a copy.”

The boy followed him eagerly, and Sakusa gave him one of the half-sheets he’d printed with aftercare instructions. 

“Call me if you have any questions,” said Sakusa. “When it’s had a couple of weeks to heal, stop back by and I’ll see if it needs touched up.”

“Yes! Thank you, Sakusa-san!”

Sakusa cringed. He went back toward his work room as the boy left, distantly listening to the sound of the door to make sure he was gone. Sakusa tossed out the almost-empty ink pots he’d used, yanked off a few sheets of paper towels, and almost went into cardiac arrest when someone spoke behind him.

“Did you just tattoo a twelve-year-old?”

Sakusa fumbled as he spun around and a splatter of black ink arched across the counter. 

Atsumu stood in the doorway, arms folded, smugly amused. “Oops. Did I startle you?”

“Fuck off,” said Sakusa. He tore off more paper towels and mopped up the mess. “He’s an adult. I checked his ID.”

“You know some people have fake ones, right?”

“What do you want?”

Atsumu shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “Just stopping by. Had some tattoo questions.”

Sakusa tossed the paper towels in the trash and turned, suspicious. “Tattoo questions?”

“Yeah. I mean, you just gave me a tattoo last week. I have questions.”

“You’re a tattoo artist, Miya.”

Atsumu grinned. “So? Doesn’t mean I can’t have questions.”

Sakusa eyed him. He highly doubted Atsumu had come here for any sort of answers. He wore black jeans that must have been sewn directly onto his body; that was the only explanation, because there was no possible way he could have gotten into them otherwise. He was wearing a shirt, by definition, but it was transparent black mesh, and Sakusa saw the bright flare of his tattoos straight through it.

“What?” asked Sakusa.

“Huh?”

“Your questions.” Sakusa cleared off the rest of the counter and propped his hip against it, arms folded over his chest. “I’m waiting.”

“You got any other appointments scheduled today?” said Atsumu.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s one of my questions.”

Sakusa stared at him, unimpressed. “No. That was my last one.”

“Good.” Atsumu walked further into the room and slouched into the chair he’d been stationed on the week before. He sat sideways, both legs hanging off of one side, and grinned up at Sakusa. “Will you show me the tattoo I did for you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“At this point I feel as if you’re just creating reasons for me to take my pants off.”

Atsumu leaned back on his hands, grin sharpening. “I would never.”

Sakusa kept his face perfectly expressionless as he said, “Did you really think a see-through shirt would be enough for me to jump you, Miya?”

“Nah, but a man can hope, can’t he?”

Something twisted in Sakusa’s gut. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doin’ what?”

“ _ This _ .” Sakusa gestured at him.

Atsumu looked down at himself, as if only now realizing what he was wearing. “Oh. I’m flirtin’ with you, obviously. Is it working?”

“No,” said Sakusa, although he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own answer. If this had been anyone else, he would have already kicked them out. “Do you have any real questions, then?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, of course not. I’m a professional. I know everything about tattoos.”

His attitude was terrible. If Sakusa had thought for even a second that Atsumu was as arrogant as he made himself sound, he would end the conversation immediately. 

But Atsumu hadn’t seemed that way, when Sakusa had been at his shop. He was proud of his work, but not vain. A little cocky, but still somehow unpretentious. Atsumu was a lot of things. Sakusa didn’t understand all of them.

“Let me see it, then,” said Sakusa.

Atsumu blinked up at him. “What?”

“Your tattoo,” said Sakusa. “If you’re such a professional, you must have taken perfect care of it. Let me see.”

Atsumu hesitated, but only for a second. He rose and peeled his shirt off, giving Sakusa a full view of his stomach and his chest before whipping the mesh over his head and turning around. His shoulders were wide, strong. When Sakusa had touched him last week, he’d had a reason.

He didn’t now.

He stepped close and reached out, trailing a fingertip down the curve of Atsumu’s shoulder, following the curled kitsune tails down to his shoulderblade. Atsumu twitched, more than he’d done when Sakusa had inked it into him. Some of the skin was still peeling, but it looked like it would heal up good. Great, even. Sakusa was surprised that the colors had turned out so well. 

“Not bad,” said Sakusa. He traced the lines closest to Atsumu’s spine, just to see if he would shiver again. He did.

“Not bad?” repeated Atsumu, his voice a little quieter. “It’s fuckin’ great, Omi. Give yourself some credit.”

“I don’t need to.” Sakusa let his hand fall away. “You already did it for me. All over social media.”

Atsumu turned to face him, still grinning. His shirt was in his hand. He made no move to put it back on. “Just wanted everyone to be jealous that I got a tattoo from you.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You don’t really think that.” Atsumu sounded certain. He was standing so close that Sakusa could see every delicate line of the ink climbing up the sides of his neck. “Your turn now. Show me yours. It’s only fair.”

Sakusa didn’t move. “I don’t take my pants off for just anyone.”

“Well you’ve already taken them off for me once,” said Atsumu. His eyes flicked down and then back up again, burning into Sakusa’s. “And lucky for you, I’m not just anyone.”

Sakusa said nothing. He pretended he wasn’t feeling a few degrees too warm.

“I could always take them off for you, if ya want.” Atsumu rested his hands on the counter on either side of Sakusa’s waist. He leaned in a little and Sakusa could smell him, earthy musk and fresh linen.

Sakusa just watched him. He pulled in a breath and waited, unmoving.

Atsumu hesitated, said, “You gonna push me away?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Atsumu’s tongue darted out to touch his lips. “Lookin’ for permission, I guess.”

“You won’t get it. I don’t kiss smokers.”

“You’re thinkin’ about kissing me? How scandalous.” Atsumu’s grin was untamable. It would have been more annoying if his teeth hadn’t been so perfect. “I haven’t had a cigarette since nine this morning. Minty fresh breath. Check an’ see for yourself.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Atsumu laughed under his breath. He was so close that Sakusa felt it, a puff of warm air against his cheek. It did smell like mint. “Words aren’t always good enough. Let me prove it.”

He leaned closer, gaze shifting from Sakusa’s eyes down to his lips and back again. 

Sakusa should have stopped him, probably.

He didn’t.

Atsumu kissed him, and Sakusa’s eyes fell closed as he kissed him back. Atsumu was a little cautious at first, as if expecting Sakusa to change his mind and push him away after all. When he didn’t, the press of Atsumu’s mouth grew firmer, his lips catching at Sakusa’s, a hand carefully gripping Sakusa’s waist. Sakusa pressed a palm against Atsumu’s bare chest, felt a shift of muscle beneath his spread fingers. Atsumu hummed against his mouth and traced Sakusa’s bottom lip with his tongue. Sakusa met him, and a rush of heat bloomed in his stomach as their tongues slipped together. 

Atsumu crowded closer, his hips nudging against Sakusa’s, pinning him against the counter. His hand crept beneath Sakusa’s shirt, fingertips brushing over his ribs, lightly enough to make Sakusa shudder.

Atsumu pulled back with a soft groan, his eyes a little hazy. He was attractive, infuriatingly so. “Shit, Omi. This is better than I thought it would be.”

Sakusa’s mouth tasted like mint. “How long have you been thinking about it?”

“Since I saw you standin’ outside my shop,” said Atsumu. His hand traveled to Sakusa’s back and slid up his spine as he found Sakusa’s mouth again.

Sakusa sighed into it, let himself be kissed, and kissed Atsumu in return. He curled a finger into the belt loop of Atsumu’s jeans and yanked him closer, earning a low, muffled sound against his mouth. 

“Miya.”

Atsumu tugged at Sakusa’s bottom lip as he pulled away. “Hmm?”

“Back up.”

Atsumu’s hand slipped out of Sakusa’s shirt as he took a step back. Sakusa could think more clearly without the heat of him pressed up close.

“I’m not fucking you in my shop,” said Sakusa. His face might have been a little red. He decidedly didn’t think about it.

Atsumu blinked, slowly. “Oh. Right. Yeah, of course not.”

Sakusa stepped past him, out of the workroom. He passed the desk and approached the front door. Atsumu followed, a little dazed, still shirtless.

“You don’t hafta make me leave,” said Atsumu, pushing a hand through his hair. “It’s cool. We can just hang out.”

Sakusa tossed him a flat look as he twisted the deadbolt on the front door. “I live upstairs.”

Atsumu went blank while he processed that. As Sakusa moved past him, toward the stairs at the back of the shop, Atsumu broke into a grin and trailed along after him with an eager shuffle of footsteps.

Sakusa led the way and pretended he wasn’t hyperaware of Atsumu encroaching further and further into his personal space as they reached the top of the stairs. Sakusa lived in a studio apartment, and although it was small, everything was arranged in an organized, sensible way. Atsumu, the absolute opposite of organized or sensible, was like a swirl of chaos against the backdrop of Sakusa’s calm, peaceful life.

“Nice place,” said Atsumu, giving the apartment a quick scan before returning his attention to Sakusa. His grin hitched higher. “Come here often?”

Sakusa made a face and Atsumu laughed. 

“I’m kidding,” he said, moving close to Sakusa again. He was still shirtless, and still unreasonably handsome, even in the low light of the shaded lamps. He reached out to tug at the hem of Sakusa’s shirt, his grin curving softer at the edges. “You gonna show me that tattoo now?”

Sakusa considered, fixated on the brush of knuckles against his hipbone. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“No?” asked Atsumu. He eased a little closer. Sakusa smelled the mint on his breath again, could almost taste it. “How can I help you decide?”

Sakusa rested a hand at Atsumu’s hip, nudged his fingertips into the waistband of those jeans. It wasn’t an easy fit. Sakusa still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten them on. He took a moment to consider if he was really about to do this, and realized that if he’d already gone this far, then he certainly was. 

Sakusa hooked his free hand at Atsumu’s bare shoulder and lowered his voice to say, “Convince me.”

Atsumu’s mouth found his in a controlled rush, less careful than he’d been downstairs. There was a hand on his waist, sliding up his ribs, slowly dragging his shirt upward. Atsumu’s tongue slipped through his lips and Sakusa licked against it, pressing himself against Atsumu, pushing his hand further into the edge of Atsumu’s jeans before withdrawing completely. He stripped his own shirt off, warming at the way Atsumu paused to take him in with a slow sweep of heavy-lidded eyes. Cautious fingertips fluttered at his chest, tracing the twin snakes coiled there, one of Sakusa’s first tattoos. 

“That’s nice,” said Atsumu, flicking his stare back up to meet Sakusa’s. “The ink’s not bad, either.”

Sakusa gave him a firm push backward and Atsumu went without resistance until he stumbled against the impeccably made bed against the far wall.

Atsumu regained his balance, grinned as he flattened his palms against Sakusa’s chest and dragged them down. He went down with them, until he was on his knees in Sakusa’s floor, gazing up at him with molten eyes and a sly smile. It sent a curl of heat into Sakusa’s groin, burning warmer as long fingers hooked into the edge of his pants. 

“Convinced yet?” asked Atsumu, as he worked the button loose. 

“I might let you have a look,” said Sakusa. “As a professional courtesy.”

“Right. Professional courtesy.” The zipper of Sakusa’s jeans scratched downward and Atsumu’s mouth grazed Sakusa’s stomach, just above the band of his underwear, as he tugged down Sakusa’s pants. “I’ll give you all kinds of professional courtesy, Omi.” 

Sakusa placed a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder for balance as he stepped out of his jeans and Atsumu tugged them away from his ankles. Sakusa’s fingertips touched the ink he’d put on Atsumu the week before. It looked good from that angle. Atsumu in general looked good from that angle, as he sat back on his heels to study Sakusa’s thigh.

“Damn,” said Atsumu. He pressed a hand against the design and slowly pulled away again. “It did turn out pretty good.”

“If it hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Atsumu traced the black lines with his fingertip before grinning up at Sakusa. “I see how it is. You only like me for my art. That hurts, Omi.”

“If it hurts, feel free to leave.”

“Doesn’t hurt that bad.” Atsumu went up on his knees again, cupping the backs of Sakusa’s thighs, his hands traveling higher. “I’ll recover.” He rubbed his cheek against the front of Sakusa’s boxer briefs and looked up at him with that smug smile. “Feels like you don’t really want me to leave, anyway.”

Sakusa would have replied, probably with something chilled and sarcastic. But Atsumu’s mouth found him, and even with the sensation muted by a layer of clothing, Sakusa’s breath pulled short. 

Atsumu’s hands hooked in and he peeled Sakusa bare. The boxer briefs tangled at Sakusa’s ankles, and he only stepped one foot out of them before Atsumu’s tongue was on him, licking at the head of his cock, those blazing eyes burning darker as he looked up at Sakusa. His hands were on Sakusa’s thighs, one of them pressed perfectly over the ink he’d carved there. 

“Nah,” said Atsumu, breathing the words so close that Sakusa felt them. “You definitely don’t want me to leave.”

Sakusa didn’t answer; couldn’t, because Atsumu sank onto his cock, tongue curling as he sucked him deeper. If Sakusa had opened his mouth, it wouldn’t have been coherent words that escaped.

He exhaled low and harsh as Atsumu pulled back, cheeks hollowing, and sucked him down again. Sakusa pushed a hand through Atsumu’s hair and found a loose grip as Atsumu worked at him. 

“You’re less annoying when you’re not talking,” said Sakusa, trying to hide his breathlessness.

Of course, that encouraged Atsumu to talk. “You sure it’s that, or is it because I’m suckin’ your dick?”

“Probably both.”

Atsumu grinned, and devoured him.

Sakusa had to pull him off, when he reached the point of static buzzing along his nerve endings and a low-voltage pulse in his gut. He yanked at Atsumu’s hair and he sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning.

“Was that good for you, Omi? You look like it was good for you.”

“Get up.”

Atsumu did, smoothly rising to his feet, rubbing at the front of his pants with an uncomfortable wince. 

“Can you get those off,” said Sakusa, “or should I call in the jaws of life?”

Atsumu laughed under his breath. “I can get ‘em off, don’t you worry.” He sounded confident, but it was with a great struggle that he fought his jeans down his hips to catch at his thighs. 

As he continued to battle his way out, Sakusa unfolded the blanket at the foot of the bed and layered it over the sheets with a snap of his wrists. He preferred an easy cleanup. He sifted through the bedside table, aware even with his back turned when Atsumu approached him. Arms slipped around his waist and a mouth marked a trail from the slope of his shoulder up to the base of his neck. A hand curled around the ink painting his bicep, and Atsumu said, “I like this one, too.”

“You would say that even if you didn’t,” said Sakusa.

“Nah.” Atsumu tugged at Sakusa’s arm until he turned around. “I’d say ‘wow you should never let another artist touch you again, I could do way better’.”

“That would be the wrong thing to say,” said Sakusa, “because I did that one myself.”

Atsumu blinked, looked down at it again, and said, “Oh. Damn. You really do know what you’re doing.”

Sakusa tipped a finger beneath Atsumu’s chin and kissed him. Atsumu leaned into him, willing and greedy, the tent of his boxers nudging against Sakusa’s dick. Atsumu’s hand traveled down Sakusa’s arm, smoothed over his wrist, and plucked the lube out of his hand. Sakusa gave him a slight push and Atsumu went, falling onto the bed and sprawling comfortably. He hooked a thumb in the edge of his underwear and dragged them down slowly as he grinned up at Sakusa. 

“See anything you like?” he asked, as he kicked them off the edge of the bed and relaxed back, perfectly at ease in his nudity.

“Yes,” said Sakusa. Atsumu blinked, and Sakusa added, “You have a very nice tattoo.”

Atsumu snorted and popped the cap of the lube. “C’mere and kiss me, jerk.”

Sakusa crawled onto the bed, stretched out beside Atsumu, and didn’t resist when he crowded in for a kiss. Atsumu was moving, a knee prodding into Sakusa’s thigh, his body shifting as he adjusted. Sakusa knew when Atsumu started stretching himself open. There was a strained yet sweet exhale in his mouth, a low shiver of voice that dissolved like sugar on Sakusa’s tongue. Atsumu’s hips twitched in a little spasm and Sakusa reached between them to skim his knuckles along the underside of Atsumu’s cock. Atsumu murmured a moan, rocking against his hand, and Sakusa stopped.

“Miya.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have a dick piercing?”

Atsumu’s eyes had fallen closed, but he opened them at that, mischief sparking beneath the heavy-lidded haze. “Maybe.”

Sakusa rubbed a thumb just beneath the head of Atsumu’s cock, along the metal bar. “What’s wrong with you?”

“It only hurt for a second,” said Atsumu. He must have done something with his fingers, because he jolted so hard that the mattress shook. He settled again and said, “You like it?”

Sakusa toyed with it. He watched the flush of Atsumu’s face and tugged at the piercing until Atsumu’s cock twitched in his hand. “No. It’s weird.”

Atsumu squinted at him, but only for a second. He pressed a kiss to Sakusa’s mouth, caught one of the snakebite piercings between his teeth, and gave a gentle tug. “Liar.”

Sakusa curled a hand around the back of Atsumu’s neck and pulled him in, kissing him with a slide of tongue and a shift of his hips that rubbed their cocks together. Atsumu made a low sound in the back of his throat, rocking against Sakusa, digging a hand into his shoulder and rolling until Sakusa was perched over him, their legs entwined. Atsumu wiped lube off of his hand and onto the blanket in a way that was supposed to be discreet but wasn’t.

Sakusa sat up on his knees and reached for the condom that he’d tossed aside. He rolled it on, very aware of the way Atsumu watched him, unblinking. “If you want more lube, put it on. I’m not touching it.”

“If you’re tryin’ to get me to touch your dick, you can just say so,” said Atsumu, as he reached for the discarded bottle.

“I don’t like the way lube feels,” Sakusa said, as Atsumu smeared it into his palm and squeezed his hand around Sakusa’s cock. Sakusa huffed a breath. “It’s the texture.”

Atsumu hummed, sliding his fist up and down, tight and slow. “What if I’d wanted you to finger me, Omi? You woulda said no?”

Sakusa closed his eyes as Atsumu’s thumb pressed against the head of his cock. “I have a spare box of the gloves I use in the shop.”

Atsumu’s hand went still. He stared up at Sakusa and said, “That should be weird, but it’s kinda hot.”

Sakusa slapped his wrist away. “You’re the one who’s weird.”

“Maybe so,” said Atsumu. He spread his knees, let his ankles rest at the backs of Sakusa’s calves. “We’ll try that out next time.”

Sakusa smoothed a hand along the inside of Atsumu’s thigh. “Who says there’ll be a next time?”

“I’m an optimist.”

“That’s a weird way to pronounce  _ idiot _ .”

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna fuck me or what?”

“Not like this.” Sakusa shuffled back to give Atsumu space. “It’ll put too much pressure on your tattoo.”

Atsumu blinked up at him, the smug look dripping off of his face. “What?”

“Your tattoo. You’re laying on it.”

“It’s been almost a week. It’s fine.”

“I’m not risking my art because you think it’s fine,” said Sakusa. “Face down, Miya.”

Atsumu’s mouth fell open. He looked like he was struggling between indignation and – judging by the twitch of his cock – arousal. 

“Fine,” he huffed, although the flush across his cheeks suggested he wasn’t as inconvenienced as he pretended to be. He flipped onto his stomach and looked at Sakusa over his shoulder. The grin crept back onto his face as he slowly pushed up on his knees. “This better for you, Omi?”

Sakusa bit his tongue and said nothing. He curled a hand at Atsumu’s waist and moved close, the head of his cock nudging against Atsumu in a way that made both of them twitch.

Sakusa gripped the base of his dick and guided himself into Atsumu with a slow push. Atsumu was hot and tight and Sakusa gritted his teeth as he slid further inside. 

Atsumu let his head drop as he groaned, arching his back and pushing against Sakusa. “That’s fine, take your time. Not like I’m dyin’ here or anything.”

“I’m being careful, asshole,” said Sakusa.

“Well stop it.”

“ _ Fine _ .” Sakusa was halfway in. He seized a grip on either side of Atsumu’s waist and rammed himself in the rest of the way, shoving into sweltering heat, Atsumu clenching tight around him.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Atsumu’s voice was loud, sharp. He rocked back against Sakusa, a moan humming in his chest. “God, Omi… That’s good. That’s real good.”

“I haven’t even done anything,” said Sakusa, his voice strained. He leaned over Atsumu, bracing a hand against the mattress by his chest. He kept one hand on Atsumu’s hip, to hold him snug. 

Atsumu sucked in a breath as Sakusa shifted. The way he pushed back was demanding. “Then fuckin’ do something.”

“Can you shut up for two seconds of your life?” asked Sakusa, his nails digging into Atsumu’s waist.

“Probably not. I think I’ll be busy screamin’ your name soon, Omi-  _ fuck! _ ”

Sakusa rocked back and thrust into him, knocking the breath out of his own lungs. Atsumu moaned under him, hips kicking back, encouraging him. Sakusa pried his hand away from Atsumu’s waist, planted it beside Atsumu’s ribs, and clutched a fistful of blanket. His knee nudged against Atsumu’s as he shifted and then he was fucking him, the slap of skin against skin blending into the chorus of Atsumu’s moans.

Sakusa rolled his hips and snapped them against Atsumu in a way that cut his voice short. He shifted his weight and spread a hand on Atsumu’s back, directly over the tattoo. He pushed and Atsumu sank down, his chest touching the sheets, his back perfectly arched. 

Atsumu was attractive in the worst kind of way; in the way that blurred all other thoughts out of Sakusa’s head, and made him feel too warm all the way down to his core, and had his cock throbbing where it was buried deep.

“Omi,” said Atsumu, his voice little more than a gasp. “What’d you stop for?”

Sakusa smoothed his hand along Atsumu’s ribs, felt his way over his stomach, and brushed across Atsumu’s cock. His fingertips were wet when he pulled away.

Atsumu groaned and pushed himself up onto his hands, shoving back against Sakusa hard before saying, “I can’t kiss you from here. Lay down and lemme ride you.”

“What if I don’t want to kiss you?”

“You do.” Atsumu said it with confidence, probably because Sakusa’s protest had been so breathy and feeble. “Go on, move.”

Sakusa pulled out and immediately wanted to thrust back in. Instead he stretched out on his back, hands gravitating to Atsumu’s hips as Atsumu swung a leg across to straddle him. Atsumu dropped down to his elbows, hovering just above Sakusa, his grin returning. His hair was damp with sweat, stuck to his forehead, a mess where his face had been pressed against the sheets. 

“How ‘bout that kiss?” asked Atsumu. His hips moved back and he sank onto Sakusa slowly, squeezing all the way down. Sakusa huffed a breath, fidgeted beneath him, and raised his head to catch Atsumu’s mouth.

It was messy, a slide of tongues that left Sakusa’s lips wet. He may have cared, if Atsumu hadn’t felt so damn good swaying on his cock. Atsumu sucked Sakusa’s bottom lip into his mouth and rolled it gently between his teeth, careful of the piercings. Sakusa’s hips kicked up, and he felt Atsumu’s moan against his mouth. 

“Shit, Omi.” Atsumu rocked onto Sakusa with more force, a little huff of breath leaving him with each impact. “You feel fuckin’ good.  _ Fuck _ .”

Sakusa would have made a snide comment about Atsumu’s lack of vocabulary, if he’d had the breath to spare. He squeezed Atsumu’s hips more tightly, pressed his heels into the bed, and thrust upward. Atsumu made a small, choked sound, followed by a moan that swelled as Sakusa fucked into him.

“ _ Kiyoomi _ …” Atsumu dragged the name out, made it sound absolutely obscene. 

Something clenched in Sakusa’s gut, and Atsumu went a little tighter around him.

“Don’t come on me,” said Sakusa, pushing the words through his gritted teeth. “It’s gross.”

“You keep doin’ that and I won’t have a choice.”

Sakusa pushed himself upright, and before Atsumu could protest, he flipped him onto his back. Atsumu landed in a sprawl, and he had only a second to blink up at Sakusa, stunned, before Sakusa descended on him.

Atsumu’s lips parted for Sakusa’s tongue, and Sakusa coaxed Atsumu’s knees further apart as he pushed into him with a sharp, quick thrust. Atsumu gasped, and Sakusa licked further into his mouth, tasting him. The mint was gone, but Sakusa didn’t mind him even without it.

Sakusa’s thrusts were fast, a little desperate, and Atsumu’s voice rose into a rolling moan, muffled against Sakusa’s mouth. 

“Omi… Oh fuck, I’m close, I’m so fuckin’…” His hands dug into Sakusa’s shoulders, a foot hooking at Sakusa’s lower back to urge him deeper. “ _ Fuck _ , Kiyoomi, just… god, touch me, please…”

A low sound hummed in Sakusa’s throat as he reached between them, fingers curling around Atsumu’s cock. He stroked it and Atsumu shuddered, pushing desperately into his hand. Sakusa kissed him again, a little sloppy, before going up on his knees. He jerked Atsumu’s cock with quick twists of his wrist, thumb pressing over the head and dragging along the piercing. Sakusa thrust into him with a quick snap of his hips and Atsumu went bowstring tight, body arching, dick pulsing in Sakusa’s hand as he came. Sakusa worked him through it, and he may have been concerned about the come squelching between his fingers if not for the rapturous way Atsumu squeezed tight around his cock. 

Sakusa gave a few more rough thrusts and Atsumu was so tight that Sakusa felt like he was being pulled in. He came with a low groan and a full-body tremor, the roll of his hips going erratic, desperate, as he rode out his release. 

His head hung heavy as he caught his breath, hands flat on the mattress on either side of Atsumu’s waist, holding himself up. When he pulled out it was slowly, but Atsumu still made a quiet sound of complaint below him.

Sakusa raised his head to take in the sight of Atsumu, lying limply beneath him, a spray of come shining on his stomach. Atsumu’s eyes were heavy, his lips were slightly parted, and he looked a little like a mess. But he smiled when Sakusa looked at him, and Sakusa wanted to kiss him again.

Sakusa wiped his hand off on the blanket, because it was already a lost cause. He removed the condom and tied it off, and leaned off the edge of the bed to toss it into the trash. He needed to get cleaned up, but he slouched back down beside Atsumu. He could catch his breath first.

“You know earlier, when I said next time?” asked Atsumu, turning his head to watch Sakusa. “I really fuckin’ hope there’s a next time.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” mumbled Sakusa.

Atsumu sat up a little. “Really?”

“No, not really.”

Atsumu huffed and laid back down, closer. He draped an arm over Sakusa’s chest, but didn’t lean against him. Sakusa didn’t know if Atsumu was intentionally keeping his come-spattered torso at a distance, but he appreciated it regardless.

“That was good, Omi,” said Atsumu. “Real good.” His hand wandered down to brush over the tattoo on Sakusa’s thigh. “You know how sexy it is to see my ink on you while you’re fuckin’ me?”

Sakusa made a low sound. “If that’s your kink, I understand why you flirt so hard with your customers.”

“Told you already,” said Atsumu, the smile evident in his voice. “I don’t flirt with my customers. Just you. Looks like that worked out for me, huh?”

Sakusa said nothing, but he touched the curve of Atsumu’s jaw and leaned in to kiss him. It was slower than before, less rushed. Atsumu chased his mouth when he pulled away and grinned when he settled back. 

“I could get used to this,” said Atsumu, as shameless as ever.

Sakusa sat up and slid his legs off the edge of the bed. He almost stood, but a light touch along the length of his spine made him pause.

“You don’t have any ink on your back,” said Atsumu. “Lucky for you, I know a guy.”

Sakusa looked over his shoulder at him. “Is this guy also going to bully me into fucking him?”

“Yeah, right,” scoffed Atsumu. “You invited me up here. You’re weak to my charm.”

“It was the shirt.”

“I knew it.”

Sakusa shook his head and stood, the slightest curve of a smile on his mouth. “I need to get cleaned up. So do you, you’re disgusting.”

“Wow, you really know how to give a compliment. I have butterflies.” Atsumu rolled onto his stomach and pushed up on his elbows, watching as Sakusa crossed the room. He said, “After we clean up, you gonna let me stay over?”

Sakusa didn’t look back at him. “Maybe.” He said it flatly, with the least amount of inflection possible. When he reached the bathroom door, he tossed the briefest glance over his shoulder.

Atsumu was grinning, his skin bare and his hair tousled, looking perfectly at home in Sakusa’s bed. “That kinda sounded like a yes.”

Sakusa didn’t argue, because he was right.


End file.
